Catch Me If You Can
by lovelylunatic1991
Summary: "I need your help." And with those four words, Sylar changes everything in Claire's carefully-guarded, fragile world. (Mostly cannon-compliant. Set nearly a year after Samuel's defeat. Claire never revealed her powers to the world in this version. Rated M) -Work in Progress-
1. A Lunatic Visits: Part I

"What're you going to do to me?" she whispers in a hauntingly terrified voice, squeezing her eyes shut. He used his telekinesis to freeze her in place while she was sitting on the couch, and her fingers are still mid-air reaching for the remote control on the table.

Sylar sits next to the former cheerleader, taking in her flushed, seemingly annoyed appearance as he ponders what the most reasonable course of action would be. He hasn't seen her in almost a year, and wonders why she hasn't grown even an inch...Isn't she still in her teens?

_Oh, right. Silly me._

Sylar shakes his head with a smile, reminding himself her ability prevents Claire from aging, same as it's prevented him since he took it for his own all those years ago. And how long has it been? Four? No—almost five years have passed since the day Sylar first hunted her down. But he had really been hunting down the wrong girl...

Claire truly hasn't aged a day since the night he first saw her, and realizing now that he'll never see her grow up or grow old makes an odd feeling start to grow inside of Sylar. The clothes she's wearing aren't helping matters much. He's caught her in a state of comfortable undress—of course, she thought she was alone and safe in her studio apartment—and the way her small, firm breasts strain against the thin material of her nightgown is making Sylar feel more dangerous than he's felt in months.

He tries ignoring the white, virginal color, the lace winking at him from beneath her modest cleavage. A small thought crosses his mind—how simple it would be to have her bare and spread open before him, helpless to stop him from taking her...

But that's not why he's here. The fun can wait for another time. Sylar brings his gaze back up to Claire's face, trying to get his urges and emotions under control. He needs to talk to her, find out what she's thinking, how she feels...Sylar needs a clue to the insane mystery he stumbled upon weeks ago when he meet a specific painter named Jamie.

But who is he to dabble in guessing games when he can simply use his powers and find out exactly how she's feeling...and what she's thinking. Sylar has done it once before with minor repercussions, save for that whole pencil through the eye incident. The memory amuses him only slightly.

"_Sylar_. Why are you here?" The fire in Claire's eyes tells him she's most likely too upset to sit down and talk this out calmly and respectfully.

_Guess I'll have to use my powers_.

Yet there is no guilt in it; he's not going to hurt her. Sylar just wants to _understand_ the paintings Jamie created. He needs to know why Claire...why it's always been Claire.

_Why you?_

Is the petite, indestructible blonde truly a part of Sylar's destiny?

He reaches out to her, his large hand easily circling her small, delicate wrist. Sylar can feel so much emotion thrumming beneath her soft skin. It has a pulse of its own as it rushes through her in a violent stampede; fear, powerlessness, _rage_. His hand squeezes her wrist none too gently as he starts digging deeper, and Claire whimpers softly, her eyes closed tightly.

Disgust. Now fear again. Intense confusion. And then...

_No...Impossible...It can't be_, his mind reels, confused at the lust mixed with disgust he's feeling. _She's_ feeling. _Who would've guessed..._

Sylar reaches into her mind with his telepathy. He has to be sure. He has to _know_.

_'Oh God, please don't let him know. I'm gonna die of embarrassment...He probably has some ability that tells him what I'm thinking...Wait, he does! Didn't he get that from Parkman?'_

Claire bites her lip, and Sylar can't help being secretly enticed by that one innocent action.

_'He can't find out...Dooshbag is probably digging around my head right now...'_

Probing further is of no use, as Claire has caught on to what he's doing, and is using some blocking method he hasn't seen done before. Sylar wonders who taught her that, and a smirk pulls his lips to the side.

_Impressive girl, always full of surprises._

With a small movement of his fingers, Claire's eyes are forced open.

"What was that, Claire?"

"Let go of me, Sylar."

"What can't I find out, Claire? Tell me."

"Why are you even doing this? You know you can't hurt me." Her breathing becomes harsher, and it looks like she's struggling under his telepathic hold, albeit fruitlessly. "We've been through this before; you cut my head open and—and _violated_ me. You already took what you wanted from me."

Her green eyes are wide and frightened, and Sylar can't help the deep intrigue he feels, even stronger than before as it's currently fueled by a mounting curiosity which only the girl currently under his control can satisfy.

"Indeed, I have. But that's not why I'm here. I'm not here to hurt you, Claire."

He snaps his fingers playfully and removes the mental hold on her body. Claire glares at him for one moment before leaning back against the couch and crossing her arms and legs, not even looking at him.

"Then why?"

"I met someone."

"No thanks, I'll pass on that wedding invite."

"That's not what I meant. I met someone who paints the future."

"Ah. I see. Heard of that power before..." She frowns, finally turning to look him in the eye. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"She painted us. Together. After the end of the world."

"The end of the...world?" Claire's brows knit together as she shakes her head. "That makes no sense."

"There's a war coming. Not now. Not for a while. But when it comes, almost half a century from now, it destroys everything. Neither side wins. Everyone loses. Humanity loses. And we lose _everything_."

"Half a century?! And why should I care? Fifty years from now and you expect me to—"

"Because even if you don't right now, you will then. You lose everyone you love. All your friends. Your family—"

"Fifty years from now everyone I know and love will be dead or old enough to be pretty damn close to it." Her voice is terribly sullen now. Sylar frowns at her small display of childish behavior.

"You're wrong. You'll fall in love. Have children. Grandchildren. But that all changes when the World Wars come. Two in succession, like the first pair back in the twentieth century. Seven years of false peace between them. By the end of the Last World War, you're totally alone, Claire. Even your descendants are wiped out completely..."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Sylar can see the pain behind those bright eyes, and it makes his next words that much harder to voice.

"Because in the future, I'm all you have. We fall in love, Claire. I take all that pain and suffering you feel and turn it into hope and passion. _That's_ the final painting in a series of seven."

"What's the first? Me trying to kill you? Or you brainwashing me? Because we both know that would never happen. I could never fall in love with you, even if you were the last man on Earth."

Sylar clenches his jaw, furious at her for being so damn narrow-minded and stubborn.

"I've acquired a new ability, Claire. I can _show_ you—"

"Oh, I bet," she hisses. "But I don't care. I've had enough of this. Get the fuck out of my apartment, Sylar."


	2. A Lunatic Visits: Part II

"...By the end of the Last World War, you're totally alone, Claire. Even your descendants are wiped out completely..." Sylar sounds like someone trying to appeal to her good senses. The way her father sometimes sounds when he's lying to her about something.

"Why are you telling me this?" Claire asks, not understanding this crazy man one bit. He made his presence first known by rendering her motionless right when Claire was about to watch a movie, practically ruining her whole night, and now he thinks he has the right to keep her here and talk to her?

"Because in the future, I'm all you have."

_What the...?_

"We fall in love, Claire. I take all that pain and suffering you feel and turn it into hope and passion. _That's_ the final painting in a series of seven." He looks almost as astonished as she feels. The difference is that her astonishment is tinged with disgust and a whole lot of horror.

"What's the first? Me trying to kill you? Or you brainwashing me?" she taunts. "Because we both know that would never happen. I could never fall in love with you, even if you were the last man on Earth."

Claire doesn't really expect the words to sting, so the ensuing expression of disappointment on the ex-serial killer's face leaves her confused. The clench of his jaw that follows is no surprise, however, and Claire finds herself fearing for her loved ones' lives. Sylar can't hurt her, but he _can_ hurt them.

"I've acquired a new ability, Claire. I can _show_ you—"

"Oh, I bet," she snaps derisively, not being able to help herself. _How dare he? After everything he's done to me! _her mind screams. "But I don't care. I've had enough of this. Get the fuck out of my apartment, Sylar," she says in a voice she hopes sounds confident and threatening.

"Manners, Claire." Sylar's voice is deceptively soft. "Noah would be quite disappointed to hear you speaking like that."

"Don't you dare bring up my father. Or any of my relatives. You _killed_ my father—you killed Nathan! Pretended to _be_ him for _months_. You psychotic piece of—"

"I've killed so many people, Claire. Hundreds. But none that I've regretted so much as Nathan. He was a good man; under that deceitful politician's exterior, he really loved his family. You know, he loved you—"

Claire's hand connects with his face before she can stop herself. The sound of the slap echoes loudly in the otherwise quiet room, and Claire has barely a fraction of a second to start regretting her action before Sylar is upon her, white teeth bared and gleaming, long fingers tight around her neck.

"You can't...hurt me," she half gasps, half laughs, her hands sinking into the black material of his shirt as she tries to push him away. Sylar's chest is hard and unyielding beneath her palms, and she wishes she could scream in rage at her own weakness. While still as indestructible as ever, Claire can sometimes feel regular human pain nowadays, and the discomfort in her throat is beginning to make tears spring to her eyes. It usually happens pretty rarely. Sometimes when she's nervous or tired or in a very emotional state; right now it's happening because she can never anticipate this lunatic's next moves and he terrifies her. Just like she couldn't anticipate him finding her home in the first place. "You," she coughs," can never...hurt me...again," she manages, using up the last of her air, her neck tender and raw beneath his hands.

"Can't I?" Sylar whispers, his voice gravelly and heavy with deeper meaning. A meaning she can't quite decode just from looking into his dark brown eyes, but then the pressure lets off, and one hand leaves Claire's neck to trail down to her naked thigh where the material of her gown has ridden up during their struggle.

_No_, a part inside of her whimpers, and she's back to where they first started when she was fifteen, running through her high school, evading this bringer of death...Back to the living room table in her parents' house where Sylar had pinned her down and opened her skull, where he had touched her in ways no one else ever had, and no one ever would or could again...Claire was only sixteen. Ways so dreadful she still wakes up screaming in the middle of the night when the memories come back to haunt her dreams. But this..._This_ isn't even fair game.

"It never was," he says, and she feels his soft lips against her cheek as they form the cruel words. Suddenly the nineteen year old is afraid for reasons she can't even fully understand yet.

A cold sweat starts to break out on the back of her neck as Claire is suddenly, painfully aware of their position on the cushions. Her legs cradling his hips not by choice, but by circumstance of how he lunged at her; her hands against his chest trying to push him away yet now that she's really focusing on them, her fingers are digging into the material and clutching it almost as if ready to rip it off; his eyes are like fire against her skin, so heated she wants to crawl out of herself and run away—_Oh God_, what is he _doing _to her?

There's a slight hitch in her breath when she feels him starting to harden against the cotton material of her panties. The growing bulge in his jeans betrays his true intentions, and Claire can't help the terrified whimper that slips out when he runs his hand from her knee to her upper thigh, giving one small, experimental thrust between her legs.

"You forget, Claire," he growls as his pelvis shoves against hers again, the hand on her neck tightening slightly. "I can hear you...And I can _feel _you."

"What are you talking about?" Claire breathes as his fingers sink into her hip.

She shudders as Sylar pushes once more and then stills against her aching center, his gaze devious and fixed on hers like an animal of prey, his pupils so dilated his eyes seem like two burning coals.

"You're _aroused._"

"And you're disgusting," Claire gasps. "You're just trying to freak me out. I wasn't even thinking about that!"

"No, you weren't," he says with a suggestive smirk. "But your _body_ was." At her horrified expression, Sylar chuckles darkly and grabs her head between both hands before lowering his face to hers.

"Don't," she manages but the rest is swallowed by his mouth, and Sylar's wicked tongue is inside _her_ mouth now, invasive, intrusive, forceful—and Claire is so very sick with herself for how his lips make her nerves tingle with pleasure, how her middle pools with warmth and need for this murderer.

_How? He must be using his powers...I can't be feeling like this because of him, because of _Sylar_...This isn't happening...__  
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The man in question sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, _hard_, and Claire cries out as he breaks the skin, tasting salt and copper in her mouth before he sucks it all away, drinking down her blood like a rare and fine wine as she heals. She can't help the moans that fly out from between her lips as Sylar pushes against her again and again, his breath hot and heavy on her neck.

Claire suddenly feels more helpless, more _human_ than she's felt in years, the throbbing between her legs a pleasure and pain of its own kind...He gives a particularly harsh push and her mind clears for a moment as her insides clench with a forbidden, despicable desire. She tries as hard as she can to repress the sensations he's pushing on her.

_This is _Sylar _we're talking about_, her mind reasons as he pants against her neck. _I can't lie to him. I have to somehow make him feel _bad_ about what he's doing_..._And the only way to do that is with the truth_, Claire realizes.

"Sylar." Her voice is small, and she's sure her cheeks must be embarrassingly red, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right? "Please don't do this. I...I'm a virgin."

"I know," he says with a grin. "And trust me, I haven't done a damn thing to you, Claire." He rubs his nose along her sensitive jawline, causing the coil in her womb to tighten further. "Not yet, anyway," he adds ominously.

"You haven't really changed one bit," she spits angrily. "You're still just one of the bad guys, no matter how hard you try and tell yourself otherwise. You may have fooled others...Peter's one example. But you can't fool me, Sylar. People like you never really change."

Sylar's eyes reduce to slits as he brings his face closer.

"I'm trying to change the big, bad, ugly future, Claire." His voice lowers. "You're going to help me willingly, or I'm going to _make_ you help me. Either way, we're not going to let those wars happen."

"Even if it means I meet my one true love and have his children?" she asks sweetly, sarcastically. "And all those supposed grandchildren?" She fake laughs for good measure, tired of his mind games. "I can stop this war all on my own. Then you and me would never happen anyway."

Sylar smirks knowingly. It's a look Claire detests, especially on him.

_No matter how attractive Sylar physically is, he'll always be a monster deep down inside_, she reminds herself. _A villain. Too bad about the '__tall, dark and handsome' __part. _

"I've come to find you so that doesn't happen." His voice snaps Claire out of thoughts she certainly hopes he wasn't listening in on. If he was, Sylar's face reveals nothing as he continues his ridiculous plea. "_Together_, we can stop these wars from ever happening. No one has to die. Together we can save the world." Sylar's gaze is smoldering now. "You're my _destiny_, Claire."

A shiver goes down her spine at his words, even as she mockingly rolls her eyes at him. "You're a lunatic."

Sylar's gaze narrows, and he stops caressing her thigh, instead sinking his fingers in painfully. She gasps in surprise.

"I am a lunatic. I'm sorry," he mutters, his words a stark contrast to his actions. Yet for the first time since she's met him, Claire thinks she can see some honesty shining in those dark eyes.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

The hand around her throat leaves to rest near her head, cradling it against his forearm. Sylar's grip on her leg relaxes, and he rubs the bruises he's caused, almost _lovingly_ one might say. They're fading beneath his fingers before even having the chance to properly form, she's sure. It causes a strange, unpleasantly familiar feeling to grow in the pit of her stomach.

His next words are voiced in a distressed sort of way, almost as if he's too proud or too guilty to ask such a thing of the young woman beneath him.

"I need your _help_."

And with those four words, Sylar changes everything in Claire's carefully-guarded, fragile world.


	3. An Unexpected Twist

"How in the world is she taking so long..." Sylar mutters under his breath, leaning against the cream-colored building.

"Talking to yourself? Why am I not surprised?"

For a supposed hostage, Claire sounds pretty amused. Sylar's lip curls in a self-assured smirk as he turns around to face the young blonde."They say talking to oneself is an indicator of a sane mind. Plus...you were taking forever."

"I did _not_ take forever," Claire protests, even though there are almost a dozen shopping bags clutched in her tiny hands. "I had to use the bathroom before I came out, that's all...Lady problems." And then that specific ringing goes off in his ears for the first time since Sylar has been around her...So Claire is actually lying to him now? What an unexpected twist.

The vehicle Sylar stole after persuading Claire to join him awaits in the shopping mall's parking lot; a dark blue, beat-up truck with peeling paint and moth-eaten seats. Inconspicuous, old, tarnished. Good enough to get them out of state, or so he tells himself. Sylar has two more people to visit in the US before they can make their way across the Atlantic and change history as he knows it.

"Where are we even going?" Claire's voice cuts into his thoughts as soon as they're moving.

"You'll find out soon enough."

"_Sylar_. You can't just—_abduct me—_and then—"

"I did _not _abduct you," Sylar replies tersely, his gaze never leaving the road. "We made a deal, Claire. You have been a nuisance ever since we left hours ago...I have been dealing with it as best I can. But you've been nothing but unhelpful and condescending...constantly complaining, and I don't think—"

"I don't give a _shit_ what you think!" Claire suddenly yells. Sylar takes his eyes off the road for a second to look her way. The glaring accusation in her vibrant green eyes causes him to feel only mildly uncomfortable. "You really are fucking crazy," she adds in a small, defeated tone.

"_Language_, Claire," he says. "Seriously...Grow up."

"I'm not the one going around kidnapping people, am I?"

Seconds later, they're parked on the side of a dark, empty, chilly road in the middle of nowhere, California. Sylar turns to look at Claire. Her gorgeous, expectant face is what really stops him from hurting her as he'd initially planned. Even though she can always heal right back..._No harm, no foul, right?_

"Well? Why'd you stop the car?...I thought you had something important to keep from happening? What happened to that whole, _Together we can save the world_," and then Claire's voice gets all low and scratchy. Is she really trying to mimic him? Not doing a very good job of it, in his opinion. "You're not even listening, are—"

"Claire, if you don't quiet down I'm going to take physical measures to ensure your silence ."

"Um...What are you talking about?"

Sylar turns to look at her. Those luscious pink lips have been haunting his nightmarish fantasies for _years_.

"Yes, I am the devil. Yes, I would enjoy killing all those you hold dear. Yes, I'm driving a car so I need you to stop talking. I need to concentrate...I have too many things going on in my mind right now..." Like how hard it is to concentrate with Claire looking that good, her curves so soft-looking, petite, and yet delightfully sinful. Or how awful it is for him to keep his hands away from her lithe body; it almost feels like he's doing something that goes against his body's instincts, goes against nature itself. Sylar would just as soon fuck Claire as he would kill her. And since he can't do the latter, well...

"Probably won't take more than another half hour to get to a hotel...But right now, you need to keep your trap shut...if ya know what's best for ya, sugar." The southern tinges at the end are purposeful, and he sees Claire blush furiously out of the corner of his eye as he starts up the car and they resume their drive.

Claire's breaking the silence only a few minutes later, and Sylar wonders if she just can't help herself. He never realized females could be so chatty. Surprisingly, the man finds he doesn't really mind her voice all that much. Most people irritate him to the point of, well, _murder_. Claire makes him feel oddly revitalized even while going against direct orders...Perhaps it's the fact that she's always presented a real challenge for Sylar, or perhaps the mere presence of another evolved, immortal human is making him feel a little..._strange_. Different.

"Are you just going to ignore me?"

"I apologize. What were you saying?"

"I asked where you acquired that ability. It was Matt Parkman, wasn't it? When part of you was in his head...When you were _Nathan_?"

Sylar turns to her briefly before focusing back on the road. Claire's gaze is heated and defiant, as if she's daring him to say something she won't agree with so they can continue arguing about how much of a 'bad guy' he really is.

Sylar's had just about enough of other people's self-righteous ramblings, especially in regards to matters they haven't the vaguest clue about.

"It wasn't Parkman," he breathes, not daring to look at Claire again, afraid he might attack her in this fleeting moment of weakness. "It was a man in Russia. Parkman can read minds, yes, but he can also control them...He can push thoughts. Control one's future actions. Erase _memories_."

"And the guy in Russia?"

"Not nearly as strong as him. Parkman is," Sylar hesitates just a moment, "_extremely _strong. Kostomarov's ability was similar...surely good enough to read your mind whenever I have a need for it. Something I wasn't even doing before, by the way...I simply heard some of your thoughts earlier."

"So when did you last read my mind?" Claire presses.

"Hours ago. When we were at your place."

"_Liar_," Claire laughs.

"You're the real liar here, Claire. Running off with the villain? Hoping to get back at daddy Noah...and uncle Peter?"

At her lack of response he sneaks another look only to find her grinning.

_A fascinating specimen. _

"You find this amusing?" Sylar's eyes are back on the road. He feels oddly provoked now. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel as he imagines wrapping them around her slender neck.

"Damn right I do," Claire mutters. "You emotionally blackmailed me into coming with you, Sylar. The least you can do is tell me where we're headed."

"Emotional blackmail...Really now."

Another swift peak, and he's greeted by a look of pure loathing. Sylar delights in the reactions he can elicit from her, even without trying. Silence stretches between them a bit longer, and then, "You said you'd kill my entire family if I didn't go with you. And then held the future deaths of _billions_ of people over my head! _Seventy-eight percent of the world's population will be wiped out if we don't stop this, Claire_. What else would you call that if not emotional blackmail?"

"Outstanding negotiation skills?" he offers.

"I'm done trying to have a legitimate conversation with you," she huffs. "Maybe _you're _the one who needs to grow up."

"Ouch, Claire. I didn't know you cared so much," he says with a pleased smirk. "Already copying my insults."

"You're an _asshole._ You know that, right?"

"I think the name calling is a little below us, wouldn't you agree?" He shrugs. "Evolved beings, and all that."

"That right there. What you just said." Claire sighs heavily. "Perfect proof that you're a crazy asshole."

"I'm starting to regret not tying you up and gagging you," Sylar confesses darkly, and he can almost _feel _her bristle beside him.

The rest of the drive is silent, almost motionless. Less than an hour later they pull into the Hillside Motel, a few miles from a national park that extends up into Oregon state. They're parked in one fluid motion, and Sylar gladly notes there are only three other cars in the lot.

Before entering the building, he's already morphed into a wiry, blonde-haired man he met months before. Not a victim but rather an acquaintance, which is quite a rarity for Sylar, even these days. Claire waits for him in the car as he gets a room for _James Nichols_ and his made up bride-to-be, _Clara_. Fat, heavy drops of rain start falling as Sylar's walking back to get her. He pulls Claire to the safety of the building as the sky rumbles loudly above them.

Room number eleven seems water-damaged yet clean; the air is stuffy and it smells of bleach and carpet cleaner.

"_One_ bed?" Claire whines before sitting on the squeaky mattress in question. She busies herself with the numerous bags she brought in, not meeting his eyes. "You're sleeping on the floor." Her cheeks darken. "Right...?"

He doesn't answer her, merely steps inside and locks the room door before proceeding to lock himself in the bathroom. Sylar is in the shower for seven minutes when Claire starts pounding on the door, seemingly desperate to use the toilet.

"You never said you were getting in the shower," is her mumbled excuse when he opens the door. Claire's bright, curious eyes fill with what might be appreciation as they roam over his lean, towel-wrapped physique. Sylar suddenly feels a tad self-conscious, something he hasn't felt in ages.

When Claire awkwardly comes back out of the bathroom, Sylar commits her fleeting, bashful expression to memory. Minutes later a strangled moan catches in Sylar's throat as he rubs himself to completion, that shy yet alluring look on her face playing behind closed eyelids. When he's finished, he lets the hot water wash over him until his skin glows red from the constant burning and healing. As if the water could wash away his horrifying sins, wash away the thoughts Sylar has about the girl out there in that room, thoughts he can't put into action otherwise Claire would probably call their deal off and think him a sick bastard. _  
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Sylar expects her to be ignoring him when he comes out of the bathroom, naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist. Instead, Claire is sitting in the same exact spot she chose when they first walked into the room, shoulders hunched and hands clasped on her lap, shopping bags left forgotten. At the sight of him standing against the door frame, she lowers her lashes and blushes profusely, her arms folding beneath perky breasts. Sylar's mouth starts to water.

"This is the part where you kill me, right?"

Claire shakes her head and lays back on the bed so her legs dangle off, closing her eyes and sighing deeply, tiredly. For a moment, she looks so lovely and peaceful he wants to slip away and leave her be, never bother this beautiful young soul again. Yet so devastatingly broken Sylar wants to take her face in his hands and never stop kissing her, never stop showing her how amazing they can be together.

Take her, fix her, _keep_ her.

"Killing you has not made it into my plans...Thought that was clear years ago. You're special. _We_ are special. We can't die, Claire." Her eyes open and she smiles slightly, but it's so damn mocking he immediately wants to slap it off her face. Claire's next words are unsurprisingly harsh and true.

"I hate you." A small pause, and then, "I watched you die. I just wish you had _stayed_ dead."

Sylar's ears start ringing immediately. He can't help the smug look that crosses his face.

"No, you don't," he says in a low tone as he approaches the bed. His legs press against the edge of the mattress, nudging the side of Claire's knee. He looms above her small frame, the sly, bloodthirsty hunter and his cornered, unaware prey. Claire opens her eyes and stares up at him questioningly._  
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"Hm?"

Sylar considers using his telepathy on the girl, but soon dismisses the thought. He has all the information he needs from her...for now. His hands twitch with an uncontrollable, twisted longing to damage her, to heal her; a contradiction of desires rages war within him. "You're _lying _to me, Claire." Far too much innocence shines out of those emerald pools. Sylar wants to hurt her, pleasure her, make her scream his name and beg for tender mercy. "Very soon...I'm going to find out _why_."


End file.
